


A Touch of Lightfic, Vol. II

by VagrantWriter



Series: Reader Requests [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bonding, Comfort, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Male Bonding, Mild Gore, Monsters, Multi, Past Abuse, past genital mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter
Summary: More lightfic requests from readers.Ch. 1 Valar Dohaeris: Sansa doesn't give Theon permission to leave.Ch. 2 Valar Ivīlībis: Theon continues to serve his Queen.Ch. 3 Valar Purtis: Theon's blackouts finally have an explanation.Ch. 4 Valar Ēdrussis: Bran meets Theon again.Ch. 5 Valar Mōzussis: Theon meets a creep and a knight in shining armor.Ch. 6 Valar Gūrēñis: Theon finds reassurance in an unlikely place.Ch. 7 Valar Bodmaghis: Theon finds allies in Mereen.Ch. 8 Valar Mazōris: Robb includes Theon.Ch. 9 Valar Epis: Sansa surprises herself with her boldness.Ch. 10 Valar Dakis: Theon and Robb meddle in forces beyond their control. What else is new?





	1. Valar Dohaeris - All Men Must Serve

**Author's Note:**

> Starting another reader request collection. The first one is a fill for MarzgaPerez, whom I promised a looong time ago I would write a Thansa fic.

“…the truth about Robb, whom I betrayed?”

Silence hung heavy in the air as he paused to let that sink in.

“When you take the black, all your crimes are forgiven.”

“I don’t _want_ to be forgiven.” His voice was stronger than she’d ever heard it. Not Reek’s voice, but not Theon’s voice either. “I can never make amends to your family for the things I’ve done.” He looked towards Lady Brienne and her squire. “They’ll keep you safer than I ever could.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Her voice tremored.

“I would have taken you all the way to the Wall.”  For the first time since they’d been saved by Lady Brienne, he met her gaze and held it. “I would have died to get you there.”

_I know you would_.

“May I take one of the horses?”

“No.”

His eyes flickered away from hers again, the way they had for months at Winterfell. “’M sorry,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have presumed…”

“No,” she repeated, “because I don’t give you permission to leave me.” She took hold of his hands because she could feel him pulling away. He thought she meant to make him walk wherever it was he planned on going. “I _don’t_ give you permission to leave me _on my own_.”

“But you have—”

She silenced him with one of her gloved hands against his cheek. “I need you, Theon. Please stay.”

He nodded and slowly lifted his eyes to meet hers again. “Of course, m’Lady.”

 

***

 

The days were getting shorter, but they traveled for as long as they could. It meant getting up as soon as there was light. Brienne would wake her up and usher her to get ready for the day, with only tiny tendrils of light filtering through the barren trees.

Despite the length of the nights, Sansa hardly slept at all. She knew Theon didn’t either because she could hear him thrashing about. During the day, he rode with Podrick, and whenever she glanced over her shoulder—she and Brienne rode up ahead—she could see him nodding off.

Finally, on the third day of travel, he must have finally fallen asleep, because he slipped from the horse. His body made no sound as it hit the snow. Only Podrick’s startled cry of, “My Lady, wait!” caused them to look back. Brienne sighed, as if she were used to this sort of thing, and circled the horse back around.

Podrick scrambled from his horse and hurried to help Theon to his feet. “I’m sorry,” Theon murmured. “It won’t happen again.”

“Pod,” Brienne instructed, “have Lord Greyjoy sit in front of you.”

“Yes, Ser,” Podrick replied, then hastily added, “Lady! Sorry!”

As he guided Theon back to the horse, Sansa tapped Brienne’s shoulder. “Would it be alright if I ride with him for a bit?”

Brienne cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her. “My Lady, are you certain?” Her tone also said, “Are you able?”

Sansa nodded yes to both accounts. “I’m the one who begged him to stay. He’s my responsibility.”

“With all due respect, my Lady, he doesn’t need to be your responsibility. Pod may be a bit…” She shrugged, as if the appropriate word eluded her at a moment. “But he will take care of him. I assure you.”

“All the same…”

Brienne tilted her head forward. “It’s not my place to question your wishes, my Lady. Pod!” she snapped. “You’re riding with me today. Help Lady Sansa and Lord Greyjoy onto your horse.”

They set out again, plodding through the snow. Theon shuddered uncontrollably in her lap, and she placed a hand on his back, trying to rub some warmth into him, just as he’d done for her when they’d huddled together under the tree stump.

“Sorry, m’Lady,” he said for what had to be the twentieth time.

“Don’t you ever get tired of apologizing?”

“I have a lot of apologize for.”

Sansa fiddled with the reins as she contemplated what to say. She wasn’t used to being given any sort of control, even just over a horse. He felt so small, like a helpless child in her arms, and it frightened her. Was this how he’d felt when she’d begged him for help: _Please don’t ask me to take care of you, I can barely take care of myself._

“I’ve spent the last four years of my life apologizing,” she began slowly. “Ever since I left Winterfell. Ever since Father…” She bit her lip. It was beyond chapped, but the pain was good. This kind of pain she could handle. “First I had to apologize to Cersei for being the daughter of a traitor, then I had to apologize to Joffrey and the court for being the sister of a rebel. I had to apologize to Petyr for being a stupid little girl, and I had to apologize to Aunt Lysa for coming between her and her new husband. And always, always I had to apologize for being a Stark, for being Sansa Stark.”

She brushed a tear from her eye. In truth, her eyes and cheeks were so dry and painful, she couldn’t even tell if she was crying at all, but it felt like she might be.

“Do you know,” she continued, “I thought about you sometimes, Theon?” His entire body stiffened, just a moment. “When I was being held captive by the Lannisters, when I had to constantly bow and scrape and apologize for being a ‘traitor’s seed’? Sometimes I looked back at our time together in Winterfell, and it always seemed fine to me. But I was a child. I didn’t understand what it meant, to have your blood used against you.”

He was silent, but his breathing was ragged.

“Theon…?”

“With all due respect, m’Lady, I don’t think it’s fair to compare our circumstances. Your family was never cruel to me.”

She was glad to hear it, even after everything. She hated to think that Theon had been suffering at her family’s hands the way she had suffered at Joffrey’s.

“You did what you had to do,” he continued. “You acted the proper Lady, you saved your neck. I acted the proper twat, because I could. Because nothing I did mattered, one way or the other. Nothing I said could speed up or slow down my fate.” He hugged himself, curling in tight. She wished she could see his face. “With Ramsay it was another matter. I always had to apologize to him, for doing the wrong thing or saying the wrong thing.”

“Like it was with Joffrey,” Sansa murmured. “It’s funny how our situations were reversed, wasn’t it? I never apologized to Ramsay. Like you said, nothing I did would have mattered.”

“I’m sorry,” Theon said. “I’m so sorry any of this has happened to you. You didn’t deserve it.”

“And you did?”

He was quiet, as if the obvious didn’t need to be said.

“You didn’t deserve it, Theon.”

“Would you say the same if I _had_ killed Bran and Rickon?”

Honestly, she couldn’t say. She’d been horrified by what he’d become, even before the truth of her brothers had come out. And when she threatened to do worse to him for his cowardice, she’d meant every word. In her mind, at least. She’d hated him. She’d wanted to hurt him, because she couldn’t hurt Ramsay. Or Petyr. How was it that a few weeks had allowed her to find sympathy for him under all her hate?

She was tired of trying to justify herself, even in her own thoughts. Something had changed between them when they’d leapt from the ramparts. She didn’t need to analyze it or explain it away. She didn’t need to apologize for it.

“You said that you don’t want to be forgiven,” she said. “That’s fine, I can understand that. When we get to the Wall, you don’t have to join the Night’s Watch.”

“Jon will have me killed.”

“He won’t. Because you’ll be serving me. As a member of my Queensguard.”

He grew very still as he contemplated her words. “Queensguard.”

“Queen in the North. Wardeness, whatever they wish to call me. Brienne will be captain of the guard, obviously, but they will also know that Ser Theon is my close personal advisor.”

“Ser…?”

She leaned forward to better whisper in his ear. “I name you Ser Theon. If you wish,” she added. She did not wish to force yet another name onto him.

“I only wish to serve you,” he replied. “If you feel that serving as your knight is the best way, I will do it, gladly. Though I am not much of a warrior anymore…” He flexed his right hand, the one with the missing finger. “If I ever was one.”

She reached around him and put her hand on top of his. “There are other ways for a knight to serve his Queen than by taking up a sword.”

“I wish to serve you,” he said again, his voice trembling, “more than anything. I don’t…understand how you think I could, but anything you ask of me…I’ll do it.”

“That’s not what I want from you, Theon.” She tightened her grip. “I don’t want you to serve me unquestioningly, the way you did…” She trailed off, because it seemed monstrous to say that Theon’s enslavement had been _serving_ Ramsay. “I wasn’t lying before. I need you. I want you with me, going forward.”

His voice, when next he spoke, was small and plaintive. “But why?”

“Why do _you_ want to serve me?”

“Because you deserve better than you’ve gotten, m’Lady. Because I wish to protect you. Because I would see you happy again.”

“You did not mention the name ‘Stark’ anywhere in there,” she said. “Nor Winterfell, nor Warden nor King nor Queen.”

“I’m sorry, m’Lady! I didn’t—”

“That is why I would have you serve me,” she smirked. “That is why I would have you by my side.”

He murmured something.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear.” She leaned in closer, her chest pressed against his back.

“I promise to serve you,” he said, louder this time, but still hardly above a whisper. “Now and always.”


	2. Valar Ivīlībis - All Men Must Fight for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> singedbylife said: 
> 
> _Oh, I really loved this Theon/Sansa chapter and would love to read more chapters to this particular installment._
> 
> This should really have about 10,000 words to simmer and develop, so I hope it's not too disjointed. Think of it as snippets from Season 6 if Theon has stayed with Sansa.

“You don’t need to do this, Your Grace.”

“ _You_ don’t need to call me Your Grace.” _You don’t have to call me Your Grace when it’s just the two of us_. “Nobody’s calling me Queen in the North Yet,” she said as another lock of brittle hair fell away. “And I’m doing this because I want to.”

Theon couldn’t understand it. He could accept his Lady’s wishes, of course, if only… “You should not be here,” he tried again. “I-in my room, I mean. It’s drafty, you might catch a chill, or the men might talk or…”

She clucked her tongue and slid the razor through a particularly tangled knot. He had been bathed, as best as possible, but he still hated to think of her hands exposed to his filth.

“I don’t care what the men think,” she said. “I told Jon I had gone to seek counsel with my advisor.”

“I’m afraid you’ll find my advice lacking.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. I’ve gotten some _very_ bad advice in my life.”

Dagmer’s voice: _A more impressive prize than a few fishermen’s daughters. What, you don’t think we could take it? You want to keep a man silent, you silence him._ “Me too,” Theon said, barely above a whisper.

He winced as the razor roughly yanked at his hair. Sansa stopped at once. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” he said and bit back an instinctive, “I’ve had worse.” They’d both had worse.

She continued cutting, grasping his hair by the roots so it wouldn’t pull. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, “about what happened in the courtyard.”

“Jon has every right to be cross with me.” _Cross_. That was an understatement.

“He had no right to treat someone under my protection that way.” She took a step to the right and continued her work, starting at the base of his neck and working her way up. As paced and methodical as she was with her needle. “And in any case, it’s been straightened out. Jon may not like it, but he has promised that no harm will come to you on his orders.” Theon tried to stare into his lap, but she tugged on his hair. “None of that, I’m trying to make it even.”

“I am a terrible knight. _I_ should be the one protecting _you_.”

“I have Lady Brienne’s sword, if I need it.”

“I cannot fight for you. I cannot advise you. I don’t see what good I am at all.”

She sighed and set down the razor on the nightstand and came around the side of the chair, stepping over piles of hair as she did. _Her_ hair was absolutely the only bit of color in the room. She ran a hand over his head, smoothing down his curls. Which would not be smoothed. “There. Looking better already.”

“Please don’t lie to me, Your Grace.” He turned his head, unable to look at her. “I couldn’t bear to have you lie to me.”

A soft hand touched his cheek, brushing the fresh bruise beneath his eye. Jon may have gotten a punch in before they’d managed to call him off. “I’m not going to lie to you, Theon.”

He flinched at hearing his name. She didn’t force his head around, though, force him to meet her gaze, the way she had at Winterfell, when he’d confessed to her that he had not killed her brothers.

“You’re not useless. You’re my knight and my advisor and my friend. And that last part is the most important one.” She held out her hand.

He hesitated, then reached out and took it. They’d both been wearing gloves when they’d last held hands. Now, ungloved, his hand was hideously mangled next to hers, fingers bent at odd angles from being broken multiple times, missing fingernails that had never grown back. She didn’t recoil, just brushed her thumb over his knuckles.

“I trust you, Theon,” she said. “And you need to trust me too. You are not useless. You still have an important part to play. I just know it.”

 

***

 

Theon opened the door just a crack. A knock in the nighttime was something to approach cautiously.

Luckily, it was no vengeful spirit, no dagger-wielding assassin. It was Sansa. His Lady, the Queen in the North, though nobody addressed her as such. She had a bundle in her arms. “I made you something.”

He opened the door wider, just a crack. “You should be in bed, m’Lady. You and Jon leave early tomorrow, don’t you?”

Instead of answering, she shoved her bundle into his arms. The warmth of fur brushed against his cheek. “I made one for Jon too,” she said by way of explanation. “So the both of you don’t have to keep wearing black all the time.” Referring to the fact that he’d been wearing a dead man’s clothes the past months. Which dead man? Hells if he knew. Some unfortunate Nights Watch brother. Better than the rags he’d been wearing when they’d arrived at the Wall.

“Thank you,” he murmured, hugging the cloak tight.

She smiled sadly. She looked tired, like she hadn’t slept and probably wouldn’t sleep even after she was done here with him. Their search for allies had not gone very well. It made Theon angry just thinking about all the unanswered ravens they’d sent out. Where was all the “North remembers” sentiment now? Was it all just pleasantries? Or did the Northern Lords hold more fear for the Boltons than love for the Starks?

He saw his thoughts mirrored on her face. And she had not turned away, bid him good night and returned to her room. “My Lady…” he began uncertainly. He was unsure if it was his place to ask. “Was there…something you wanted to talk about?”

She bit her lip and nodded. “Theon, I…” She hesitated, then looked up and down the hall, as if making sure they were alone.

Theon stepped back and opened the door, inviting her in. She did so with an appreciative nod.

“Theon,” she began again as he closed the door, “I have to tell you something, but you must promise not to tell Jon.”

“Of course not.”

“I sent a raven to Petyr.”

Theon was quiet a moment, taking that in. “But I thought you—”

“I know!” She took two paces to his pallet, collapsed onto it, and buried her face in her hand. “I told him when we met that I neither wanted nor needed his help. And I still don’t _want_ it, but…but our bannermen aren’t rallying and now Ramsay has _Rickon_.”

He swallowed at the mention of the boy’s name. He had not been there when the letter was read, but he _had_ been there when Sansa had come to him afterwards, shaking with anger and fear. They’d held each other, no platitudes of “It will be fine, we’ll get him back,” because they both knew, as no one else did, that their odds of rescuing Rickon were slimmer than anyone could imagine.

Theon set the cloak down on the pallet and came to kneel in front of her. “You need to tell Jon.”

She shook her head. “Petyr hasn’t responded. I don’t know if he even got my letter, and if he did, he might not even answer.”

Theon gently pried her hands away from her face. She looked up at him, eyes red and on the verge of crying. She did such a job of holding her head high, of playing Wardeness of the North in the war room. It must be wearying, being so strong all the time.

“You have to tell Jon,” he repeated.

Her lips trembled. “He’ll hate me.”

“No, no.” He drew her head to his chest. “If you must, tell him it was my idea to keep it secret.”

“You know I would never throw you to the wolves like that, Theon.” She drew back to wipe at her face, smiling at her own terrible joke. “But you’re right, perhaps I should tell him. Though I don’t know what good it will do. He will not want to hold off the attack while we wait for the knights of the Vale to either come to our aid or abandon us.”

“Jon deserves to have all the information he can get,” Theon said. “Perhaps you can convince him to hold off the attack for a day or two.”

She nodded, then pressed her cheek to his chest. He patted her back, and it almost seemed like they were back under that fallen tree, clinging to each other for what little warmth they could.

After a few minutes, she took a deep breath and pulled away. “I really should be getting to bed.”

“Go,” he said. “Rest well. I’ll see you before you leave tomorrow.”

Theon waited until her footsteps faded completely down the hall before returning to the work she had interrupted. Not that he minded the interruption; it only gave him a renewed confidence in his decision. Sansa thought he meant to weather the battle at Castle Black. It was a reasonable thought, and one Jon agreed with. After all, Theon couldn’t fight, he couldn’t accompany them on their diplomatic mission due to his status as Most Hated Man in the North, and though he could probably strategize—having sat in on countless of Robb’s war meetings—it was doubtful any of the men would listen to him.

And yet, he did not plan to weather. He continued packing his bags, the provisions he’d secretly been gathering the past weeks, ever since they’d received Ramsay’s pink letter. It was more than one man would need, let alone a man who ate as little as Theon did these days, but only because he wouldn’t be traveling alone.

Not coming back, at any rate.

Theon paused and looked at the cloak lying on his pallet. He grabbed that and packed it as well.

 

***

 

“Do you have any proof?”

Sansa had to admit she shuddered a little when Ramsay smirked at Jon’s challenge. He reached into his saddlebag and tossed an animal’s head to the ground in front of them. Shaggydog. Sansa hadn’t seen her brother’s direwolf in years, but she recognized the black fur. She felt nauseous at the sight.

Jon pretended to contemplate it, that dead thing with its tongue hanging out of its mouth. Then he looked up at Ramsay with a smirk of his own. Ramsay’s smirk wilted, just a bit. “He was always the weakest one, wasn’t he, Sansa?”

“Who? Rickon?” She forced herself to smile. “I should be thanking you, my _lord husband_. You’ve rid me of the last obstacle in my way, the one person who could threaten my claim to Winterfell.”

Ramsay’s smirk fell away entirely.

“I’ll be sure to thank you when your head goes up on the battlements tomorrow.” She nodded to him in mock gratitude. Well, _mock_ mock gratitude. “Sleep well, Lord Bolton. You’ll be dead by this time tomorrow.” With that, she pulled her horse around and galloped off with the image of Ramsay’s confused expression lingering sweetly in her mind. She might even have heard a, “And they call _me_ ruthless.”

Sansa rode back to camp. At once, a dozen men hurried to help her dismount, but she waved them all off, climbing from her mare herself. She did hand the reins off, however, so she could make haste to her tent.

Theon looked up when she threw back the flap. “How did it go?” he asked, searching her face for signs of distress.

“Ramsay is an idiot,” she proclaimed. “He either does not know that my brother has been spirited away under his nose, or else he _does_ know and thinks he can hide the fact from us.” She unclasped her cloak. “How is Rickon doing?”

“He’s…” Theon paused. “Physically, he will recover well. He’s already eating. Like a wolf, I’ve heard.” He stared into his lap. “He doesn’t want to talk about what Ramsay did to him.”

Every time Sansa was able to convince herself that her heart had been forged anew with iron, the universe kept finding ways to break it again. Her little brother, who had been just five when she left for King’s Landing, whom she had thought dead—at this very man’s hands no less…their reunion had been more bitter than sweet. Always a quiet child, but now frightened, unwilling to speak, though he’d hugged both her and Jon tightly after Theon had helped him down from his horse.

It was a sight Sansa knew she would never forget. Theon, riding into camp with a young man in his lap. Had it been just a few months ago when she’d been the one holding him in place as they rode North? How strong and sure of himself he’d looked, like a true knight out of a song.

She came to sit next to him on the pallet. “I want to thank you again,” she said, placing her hands on his cheeks so that she could softly steer his gaze to hers, “for what you did. I cannot image how difficult it must have been.”

He fought her grasp, trying to turn his head away. “You should be thanking Maester Luwen. He’s the one who told me about the secret lord’s escape. He tried to convince me to use it during Ramsay’s siege of Winterfell. I was too proud.”

She would not let him pull away so easily. “No, I meant it must have been difficult, going _back_ there. It was so incredibly brave…and stupid of you. I’ve still not forgiven you for pulling such a stunt.”

“I had to.” He finally, reluctantly, lifted his eyes from the ground to look at her. “When I heard that Ramsay had Rickon…that Rickon was _alive_ …I…”

 “You saw your chance to make up for what you did to him.”

“To him. To you. To your family. I know it will never be enough. We wouldn’t even _be_ here if I hadn’t…” He trailed off.

“You don’t know that,” she said. “I know _I_ wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I’d still be back there.” She nodded over her shoulder, indicating Winterfell and the monster that held it. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. I do know that I have no intention of being taken alive. If it comes to it, and the battle turns against us…”

He took her face in his hands as well, and they sat like that, arms crossed. “I’ll do it,” he said. “He won’t have you. He won’t have either of us.”

She smiled, despite the grimness of their conversation. “A knight serves his Lady well.”

He smiled too. Not the smile of the boy she’d grown up with. It was uncertain and frightened, but also determined. “Now and always.”

She leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “Let’s hope ‘always’ is a long time yet to come.”


	3. Valar Purtis – All Men Must Scratch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calamidad's request: 
> 
> _Theon's blackouts finally have an explanation: during those times, he transforms into a cat and stays like that for hours. Robb eventually learns to live with this._

“It just seems so strange,” Catelyn said. “A healthy young man should _not_ be experiencing blackouts like that, even if he is a heavy drinker.” She paused, and Robb could hear her doing that thing with her teeth, where she ran her tongue over them while she thought. It was amplified over the phone. “If he were my son, I’d make him go to the doctor.”

Robb laughed. “Mom, you know no one can _make_ Theon do something he doesn’t want to do.”

“Hmm,” she agreed, and he could feel her aggravation. “You will monitor his drinking, at least, won’t you? The blackouts are bad enough, but if he gets _one_ more DUI, he’ll have a lot more to worry about than community service.”

“I know, I know,” Robb interrupted. “Don’t worry. I’m taking care of him.”

“Of course you are. You’re a good friend, Robb.”

In his lap, Theon stirred.

“Okay, Mom, look, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, alright? Love ya.”

He hung up, just as Theon stretched and opened his eyes. Looked up into Robb’s face. Yelped and flopped off the couch.

“The fuck, dude?” he cried, regaining himself. With one arm on the coffee table, he was able to maneuver into a sitting position. He took in his apartment, then his state of undress, then Robb sitting there on his sofa. “The fuck?” he repeated again.

“You okay?”

Theon put a hand to his head. “Yeah.” He didn’t sound too certain. “I just…when I asked you over to help me out, I didn’t expect to wake up naked in your lap.” He shook his head. “I didn’t…do anything inappropriate or anything…while I was out…did I?”

Robb smiled. Of course that would be Theon’s first concern. Whether _he_ did anything inappropriate. It probably never crossed his mind that Robb would have taken advantage of his blackouts. Theon didn’t give his trust so easily, or least allow himself to be vulnerable around others. Robb would try to be worthy of his trust.

“I found out what’s been causing your blackouts,” he answered, flipping through his phone. “You uh…might want to take a shower and get dressed first. And make yourself a strong cup of coffee. This is going to be…yeah…”

Theon pinched his brows together. “That bad?”

“Uh…”

“Okay.” He got up and walked around the sofa, not trying to cover himself or otherwise shield his naked body from Robb’s view. And Robb appreciated the view, even if he tried to keep from sneaking peeks, because this was his best friend and he was supposed to be helping him not perving on him and oh god Theon was looking at him! “My clothes?”

“In your bedroom!” Robb squeaked.

“Thanks.”

Theon disappeared into his bedroom.

Robb sank back on the sofa and let the phone slip from his fingers. He’d brought it with the intention that he’d need to call emergency services. Blackouts, lost periods of time…yeah, when Theon had asked him to spend the night, to keep an eye on him when his next blackout occurred, there was no way in hell Robb had anticipated catching something like _that_ on his camera.

“Who were you talking to?” Theon called through the door.

“My mom.”

“Your mom? She not approve of you spending the night with me?”

“Well, she’s worried about you.”

“Pull the other one.”

“No, I’m serious. When she heard you were having trouble, she was really worried.”

“It must be because of all those grilled cheese sandwiches she’s invested in me over the years. Woman’s probably spent over ten grand feeding me for twenty years.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it,” Robb laughed back. He glanced at his phone. “I…uh, told her you’d been drinking too much again.”

“What? I haven’t touched any alcohol—I mean, _hardly_ any—in weeks. My parole officer can vouch, my overseer at the shelter can vouch, and _you_ can vouch. I didn’t drink a drop of it last night, did I?”

“It was the easier explanation.”

“You’re kinda freakin’ me out.” The door opened and Theon came out, dressed in the same jeans and t-shirt he’d been wearing last night when… Well, no use drawing this out.

Robb brought his phone back to life, hit play on the screen, and turned it around for Theon to watch. Theon leaned over the back of the couch, brows furrowed in concentration, like it was a hidden puzzle game where only an eagle-honed eye would catch the solution. He really needn’t have, though. The contents of the video…they weren’t so subtle.

Robb had watched it probably a hundred times since he’d taken it eight hours ago. He’d missed the first few minutes, where Theon, asleep on his bed, began twitching. A seizure, had been his initial thought, and but then Theon curled in on himself with a soft mewling sound. And began to grow hair.

That was about the time Robb’s millennial-trained brain reached for his phone and captured the events in all their shaky-cam glory.

First Theon sprouted hair all over his body, and all Robb could think was, _Jon was right, werewolves totally exist_! But then Theon had begun to shrink, curling in on himself, disappearing into the folds of his clothes. It all happened in less than a minute, perhaps less than half a minute, and left only a blob moving under the clothes.

The camera footage showed Robb reaching out, grabbing the shirt, and pulling it back to reveal a black cat with blue-green eyes staring up at him. That was about the time Robb dropped the camera and everything went black.

“The fuck!” Theon screamed, jumping back. “What. The actual. Fuck?”

“Yeah.” Robb hit the end button but didn’t put his phone away. Theon would probably need to watch it a few more times before he could accept it. “Now you see why I lied to my mom?”

Theon stood there, mouth open, as his face slowly turned from shock to absolute rage. “You’re not fucking with me, are you?”

Robb gave him a level stare. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”

Theon rubbed at the back of his neck, looking guilty. “Yeah, man, I know. Sorry.”

“You left some cat hair in my mouth, if you want more proof.”

Theon’s anger came raging back. “I know whose fault this is! It’s that damn cat down at the shelter. The one Jeyne made me bathe the other day. She said it was fine, the cat was friendly and well-behaved. Well-behaved my ass! Fucker left claw marks all over my face and arms.”

Robb raised his eyebrows in surprise, but Theon was on a tear, pacing around the apartment.

“Everyone said its owner was a freaking psycho and was into blood magic and all that shit. I’ve been goddamned cursed!”

“Theon, calm down.”

“I’m not going to calm down. I’m going down to the shelter right now to strangle that damned cat!”

Robb grabbed his arm as he passed and pulled him onto the couch. “I don’t think killing a shelter cat is going to help.”

“It’ll make me feel better.” He folded his arms over his chest. “What else can I do? The owner’s dead. That’s how it ended up at the shelter. Do I go to the police? Hire another witch to take the curse off?”

“We can figure that out later.” Robb reached up and tickled behind Theon’s ear.

Theon lifted a hand to swat it away, but stopped mid-gesture. Lowered his hand and nuzzled into Robb’s. Closed his eyes. And purred.

Robb couldn’t help himself. He smiled at that. “I thought it was suspicious that you wanted anchovies on our pizza last night.”

“I’ve always liked anchovies,” Theon grumbled.

“And the way you fall asleep on the warm laundry out of the dryer.”

“Everybody likes warm laundry out of the dryer.”

“And the way you’ve always liked lying on my lap.”

“I don’t—”

Robb looked at him.

“You’re the only one I do that to.”

“Maybe you’ve been a cat all along.”

Theon grumbled darkly under his breath.

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.” Robb pulled gently on Theon’s neck, and he allowed it, until his head was on Robb’s lap. Robb ran his hands through Theon’s hair, the way he had last night when Theon, as a cat, had crawled up into his lap and made himself right at home, purring away. Now, Theon closed his eyes at Robb’s gentle petting. “In the meantime, I’m going to upload so many funny cat videos to the internet.”

“Do it and I’ll kill you,” Theon said, eyes still closed.


	4. Valar Ēdrussis - All Men Must Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luth requested:
> 
> _Bran & Theon. Bran in his vision visiting Theon in one of Theon's nightmare (maybe Theon still tied in his saltire). I wonder how Bran will react, will he forgive Theon? What will he say?_

Bran didn’t understand why he was seeing these things.

Theon Greyjoy. Bound. Cut up. Cut open. More flesh ripped apart than left intact.

“He can hear you in his sleep,” the Bloodraven said. A small, gasping breath escaped through Theon Greyjoy’s lips. “Do you have something to say to him?”

“No,” Bran answered quickly. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” the Bloodraven repeated. “I don’t think that’s quite true. I think you have a great deal to say to him. About what happened at Winterfell.”

“No,” Bran said again with a shake of his head. “I really don’t. Can we go back now?”

The Bloodraven put a hand on his shoulder. Fingers with gnarled, twisted nails dug into the fabric of his shirt. Of course, the fabric wasn’t real. Any more than the hand with its misshapen nails was. The only real thing in the room was Theon Greyjoy and the cross. “Come now, Bran. Before you are able to learn, you must first forget. You must leave Bran Stark behind, and all his heavy trappings. Otherwise you will never fly.”

Bran was silent for a moment.

“I will leave you,” the Bloodraven said. “Finish your business with him. Cut the weight from your soul. And return when you no longer see with Bran Stark’s eyes.”

Before Bran could respond, the old man was gone, leaving him alone with the sound of Theon’s ragged breathing and the dripping of water from somewhere in the darkness. A small circle of light, cast by a torch, enveloped the both of them.

Bran contemplated the wrecked body of his former tormentor. Finish his business with Theon Greyjoy? What did that mean?

Suddenly, Theon’s chest expanded and a loud gasp filled the air. Bran jumped back in surprise. Theon lifted his head, blinking through eyes swollen nearly shut with fresh bruising. “Who’s there?” he called. His voice was painful to listen to, because it sounded painful to speak. “Please, no more. I…” His head dropped against his chest. “I can’t.”

Bran stepped closer. “Who did this to you?”

Theon shook his head. “Reek, Reek. Rhymes with sneak.”

Bran remembered Reek, vaguely. Theon’s servant. A repulsive man he’d found rotting in Winterfell’s dungeons. So, he’d released Reek and been repaid with imprisonment. Fitting, Bran supposed, for the man who had held him as a prisoner in his own home. Like in the storybooks, when the villain always met an ironic fate—killed by his own pet monster, run through on the end of his own sword.

Storybooks were satisfying. This…wasn’t.

“Tell me what happened at Winterfell.”

Theon shrank back, as much as he could. “I already told you,” he whined. He was delusional, or else unable to see that the boy before him was not his torturer.

“I want to hear it again,” Bran said, “from your own mouth.”

Theon’s hands, bound above his head, twitched. Several fingers were bent in the wrong direction. “I…I took Winterfell with my Ironborn soldiers,” he began. “Set up a decoy at Torrhen’s Square, knew…knew the Lord of Winterfell would send men. And when Winterfell was unguarded I…” Paused to wet his lips. His tongue was dry, it didn’t help.

“Go on,” Bran said. “This Lord of Winterfell. Who was he?”

“B-Bran Stark,” Theon stammered, “while his brother was away. Child of eight. Cr-crippled from a fall from the Broken Tower.”

Crippled. That was how anyone remembered him. The poor broken boy who’d fallen from the Broken Tower. The boy who played at being Lord of Winterfell while his brother was away at war.

“I heard you killed him,” Bran pressed. “Him and his younger brother, who was only five.”

“I…no, no.” Theon shook his head in fierce denial. “It was the miller’s boys. Cut off their heads, tarred them, put them on pikes.” His whole body shook against the saltire. It continued to hold him fast. “I didn’t…it wasn’t my idea…I didn’t want…”

“You didn’t _want_?” Bran repeated incredulously. “But you did. Two innocent boys. Sacrificed for you to continue holding a castle you had no claim to.”

Theon didn’t answer.

“And what of the Lord of Winterfell? What really happened to him?”

“Escaped,” Theon breathed. “Outsmarted me. I was unable to hold two children, let alone Winterfell, because I overreached. Because I’m a stupid twat. Stupid. Useless.”

Bran was silent as he sobbed for a minute or two.

“What would you say to Bran Stark,” he began, “if he were here right now.”

“Sorry,” Theon said. “I’m so sorry. Please kill me.”

That last part startled Bran. “Kill you?”

Theon lifted his head, looking panicked. “I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly. “I didn’t mean—of course I only get to die once you say so, my Lord. It’s just—I thought—and you asked—it’s his right, my Lord. He’s the one who I—and his brother—b-both of them. I—”

“Shh.” Bran put a finger to Theon’s chapped lips, and Theon fell silent immediately. Hiccupping from working himself into a panic. “I don’t hate you.” He didn’t even realize it was true until it was said. “I can’t absolve you of your sins on behalf of others, but for my part…I forgive you. I forgive you for your transgressions against Bran Stark.”

Theon’s lips trembled.

“I can’t give you what you want,” Bran went on. “I can’t grant you the release of death. But I can give you something.” He placed his hands on Theon’s head, right at the temple. Felt the grime of dried blood there. “I give you peace. For a little while.”

He found it flowed through instinct, channeling calmness into Theon’s mind. Slowly, Theon stopped trembling, and his body relaxed against the saltire as he fell into a restful sleep.

Bran stepped back. His body felt lighter.

Perhaps Theon Greyjoy _was_ like the villain in a storybook. After all, the villain was the heart of the story, the catalyst. Without a villain, the hero would never move from page one, but would continue to sit there. And Bran had done plenty of sitting during his brief, fruitless tenure as Lord of Winterfell. _Broken_ Lord of Winterfell. He realized with dawning gravity as he whisked back to the weirdwood tree— so far from Winterfell, his own page one—that Theon had been the catalyst for _his_ story.


	5. Valar Mōzussis – All Men Must Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> krakenwolf said: 
> 
> _How about a modern au fic where Theon is getting hit on by Ramsay and he's starting to get uncomfortable when a stranger (Robb) comes to his rescue by pretending to be his boyfriend?_

“Buy you a drink, princess?”

Theon eyed the guy up and down. Big guy, tall. One of those guys who hit the gym way too hard, and wore tank tops to show off his gains. Fake designer sunglasses, inside, at night. Guy had fuck boy written all over him. Definitely not Theon’s type. “You’re welcome to buy me anything you want,” he said. “Doesn’t mean you’re getting into my pants.”

The guy smirked. “We’ll see about that.” He sidled up next to Theon’s seat and pounded his open palm on the countertop to get the bartender’s attention. Flashed the inside of his wallet. “One coke and rum for the gentleman.”

Theon grimaced. “You know, I think I’ll pass.”

“Don’t be that way,” the guy said, pressing his hip against Theon’s. “You come here often?”

“Yeah. With my boyfriend.”

“Yeah?” The guy slid his sunglasses down to reveal pale blue eyes. “Where is he?”

“Bathroom.”

“Now, that’s strange. I’ve been watching you for a good twenty minutes. You’ve been sitting all by your lonesome over here.” He ran a thick finger up and down Theon’s arm, causing his hair to stand on end. “If it were _me_ , I wouldn’t leave a pretty little thing like you unguarded.”

Theon pulled his arm away and stood, just as the bartender passed the drink down the line. He pushed it back. “Thanks, but I’m not thirsty.”

He stood to go, but the creep grabbed his wrist. “Oh, come on, princess. We both know you came here alone. And we both know _why_ you came here alone. There’s no need to play your hard-to-get bullshit with me.”

Theon tried to yank his wrist away, but the creep just gripped tighter and reeled him back in, wetting his lips obscenely. Theon felt tinge of panic and looked around for the bouncer.

“I’ll take care of you, okay, princess? So why don’t you sit down, share a couple drinks with me, and then we can go back to my place and I’ll—”

“Excuse me, what’s going on here?”

The creep looked up, as did Theon, to see a young man with shockingly red hair. He came up and put a hand on Theon’s shoulder. “This guy bothering you, babe?”

The creep blinked.

Theon blinked.

The redhead gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, uh…” Theon stammered.

“Who the fuck are you?” the creep spat.

“His boyfriend. And I’d appreciate it if you let go of him.”

The creep seemed to realize he was still holding Theon’s wrist and quickly dropped it. Then eyed the redhead suspiciously, as if considering whether he could take him in a fight. “You’re not his boyfriend.”

The redhead stared him down. “You don’t believe me?”

“No. I think you’re just some desperate loser playing white knight.”

The redhead leaned across the bar and grabbed the coke and rum. He downed half of it in one drink, then slammed it on the counter in front of the creep. “Thanks for the drink,” he said. “Now, get lost or I’ll call security on you.”

The creep glowered, but seemed to be weighing his options. In the end, he opted for the non-security option, pushing his chair back and standing. He looked straight at Theon as he pocketed his wallet. “You get tired of this asshole by the end of the evening, you come find me again. Offer’s always open, darlin’.” Then, with a wink, he turned and left.

Theon breathed a sigh of relief.

“You okay?” the redhead asked.

Theon nodded. “Fine. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Look, I’m sorry if I came off as a creep or—”

Theon waved his apology off. “Honestly, I was looking for a way to keep security from getting involved,” he admitted. He lifted the half-finished coke and rum and took a swig. “Theon, by the way.”

“Robb.”

“Robb? Yeah, alright, I guess that’s a good name for a knight in shining armor.”

The redhead’s face went pink. Like, immediately. “Oh, I’m not—I just, I have two sisters who have to put up with creeps all the time, and he was making you uncomfortable so I…”

Theon let him sweat it out. He was cute when he was flustered. He was cute anyway. He had the whole wholesome golden boy thing going on. Theon contemplated his drink. The one the creep had bought him. “Hey, do you maybe want to go get a drink? Somewhere else, I mean.”

 Robb looked up at him.

“I mean, if you’re straight, I get it. I totally get it. If that’s the case, I appreciate what you did even more. But, um…I’ve been out drinking by myself every night this week and I could use a little company.”

Robb was quiet. The quiet of rejection.

Theon smiled. “That’s fine. Just thought I’d ask.”

“No, I…” Robb stood. “It’s just…um, do you like Northern food?”

“Sure.”

“Great.” He pulled out his cellphone and began dialing. What number? Theon couldn’t tell, just that it was on speed dial and Robb answered with a, “Yeah, uh, could I get a table for me and my friend.” … “I _know_ it’s busy. Could you just stick us in one of the smaller booths in back?” … “Okay, one second, let me ask.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece and addressed Theon. “Do you have a problem with eating in the kitchen?”

“The kitchen…where?”

“Oh, sorry, at the Wolf’s Head.”

“The Wolf’s Head?” Theon repeated. “That hoity-toity—you can’t just get a reservation there.”

“No, it’s cool. My dad always makes room for us if we bring friends by.”

“Your…dad?”

“Yeah. He kinda owns the place.”

Theon was floored for a moment. The Wolf’s Head was a three-star restaurant downtown. Very high end. Very expensive. And the man who owned it was a world-renowned chef. As something of a dabbler in cooking, Theon knew his name. “Your father is Eddard Stark?”

Robb grinned sheepishly. “Are you okay eating in the kitchen? Dad will make anything you want.”

“Hells yeah I’m okay with that.”

Robb uncovered the phone. “He says that’s fine. We’ll be by in about fifteen minutes.” … “Just a friend, _okay_? None of your business.” He hung up. “Sorry, my sister’s pretty nosy.”

As they left, Theon spotted the creep watching them from the pool table, cue in hand. Theon smirked at him and linked his arm with Robb’s, and together they left. The creep’s drink sat unfinished at the bar.


	6. Valar Gūrēñis – All Men Must Learn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarah said: 
> 
> _Could you write one where some ironborn send a whore to his room as a cruel joke but she all "I've never had a customer I couldn't please." It could be a therapeutic hurt/comfort thing where he meets someone who doesn't yell at him or make fun of him. Or it could be a fun kinky thing where he is introduced to pegging and re learns to enjoy himself. Whichever you want._
> 
> Why not both? ;)
> 
> I've added the dubious consent tag because Theon is reluctant at first and even says "no" a few times, but rest assured that everything is consensual.

They called her Khara the Hare, and she was no stranger to men crying. But usually not until afterwards, and usually only young men who came to her to lose their virginity or older men who came to her to cheat on their wives. They cried from guilt, from being overwhelmed by physical sensations or emotions they couldn’t put names to. They cried because they were not supposed to cry.

But she had never, in the seven years she’d been working in this Volantene brothel, seen a man cry in so much abject misery.

She could parse the situation. The men who had approached her had been far too eager to buy their “friend” some companionship, had far too eagerly parted with their gold. They had practically dragged her to his table, where his sister was busy with another whore. Then, they had actually shoved her into his lap.

The man—his friends had called him Prince Theon—had gone absolutely stiff, and not in the way men usually did with her in their lap. By the friends’ laughter, this was very much the expected result.

“He’s shy,” one of the friends said. “Use your hand.” He mimed the motion. Her customer keened low in his throat. The other men laughed.

Khara did not much appreciate being told how to do her job. In her best, albeit halting, Westerosi, she replied, “Perhaps _you_ may pleasure him better.” The one man stared at her, and as the other men’s laughter turned to him, Khara stood and took Prince Theon’s hand. “I know what you need, sweet boy.” She led him from the tavern and he followed, head bowed, feet shuffling.

His posture did not change when they left the noise behind them, when she guided him through the hallways to the backrooms. She closed the door behind him and made a show of bolting the door. His eyes widened and his breathing became ragged, so she quickly undid the bolt. She had only meant to give him a sense of privacy, but perhaps he did not like feeling locked in.

She ran a hand through his hair, then nodded to the bed. He opened his mouth, but as a jumbled excuse began to form, she placed the tips of her fingers to his lips. Shook her head. Then nodded to the bed once more.

He nodded and went to sit. Shoulders hunched. Staring at the floor.

Khara placed a finger under his chin and lifted his head. When she felt his attention was securely on her, she took a step back. His head did not loll again as her hands went to the material of her vest. She undid the two buttons holding it together and let it fall open. He watched, rapt, and wetted his chapped lips, and she smiled behind her veil. So, he was interested. His “friends” were not playing a prank on him, buying him a woman when his interests lay elsewhere.

She continued.

Her clothing was meant to come away quickly and flashily. She undid the sash at her hips, and her skirt pooled at her feet, leaving her bare from the neck down. She stepped out of the puddle and came to stand before him.

He shook his head. Opened his mouth to say something. Another protest. She silenced him again with the click of her tongue.

Lastly, she reached for the fastenings of her veil. Never taking her eyes off him, or him her, she undid the tie and brought the sheer bit of fabric away. And watched his reaction.

His eyes widened, surprise not fear. Some men looked away very quickly, but he did not. He stared at her in wonder. She smiled, knowing what it would do to her lips. And even then he did not look away.

She did not mind him looking. It was why she had showed him. Because her face told him more than her poor Westerosi ever could: _You think I am going to judge your body? Your friends chose the wrong whore to shame you with._

She came a step closer and pressed her hand against his chest, until he allowed her to lay him out on his back. He seemed bewildered but not like the cornered animal he had been a few minutes ago. When he was prone, she climbed atop him.

“No,” he said with a renewed panic, “I can’t—”

She took his hands and placed them on her breasts, inviting him to touch wherever he wanted. His protest died away quickly. His hands remained there for a few seconds, then slowly made their way up her chest and neck to her face, brushing against the split in her lip. He said something, but she couldn’t understand all the words and so the meaning was lost to her.

She nodded to encourage him, and her own hands started with the laces of his breeches. His breathing hitched, but she against placed her fingertips to his mouth while her other hand slid down the front. She felt around until she found what she was looking for. She hoped she hid her surprise well. She’d been expecting to find a small cock, not…none at all. Ah, so that was it. And the shape of the scar there…

“Sweet boy,” she purred.

He stared at her like she was crazy.

She traced along the scar, watching his face for signs of pain. And yes, he did wince, even at her light touch, so she withdrew her hand. That was fine. There were other ways to pleasure a man.

She began to unlace his jerkin. He grabbed her wrists. Not hard, and not defensively. Just enough to still her efforts. “You don’t have to. You can…keep the money.”

A generous offer, but she’d never had an unsatisfied customer yet. She fought out of his grip and continued her work. These Westerosi…perhaps it was their cold climate, but their clothing was needlessly complicated. Just getting his jerkin loose enough to open was a seemingly impossible task. Seemingly. Khara knew her hands were deft, and could find hundreds of men to back her up on this claim. She had the jerkin undone as quickly as she could and began to hike up his undershirt.

Revealing skin littered with more scars. Not battle scars. She refused to be startled. She’d seen worse. One of his nipples was missing, which was a minor hindrance. She took the remaining one between her thumb and forefinger and rolled it.

“Please, you don’t ha—” He made a sound like a startled cat and arched into her hand. Then relaxed back into the pillows with a satisfied, “Mmm.”

“Sweet boy.” She nuzzled into his neck. “I know what you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the abrupt ending. This particular plot thread will be continued in the next chapter, hopefully uploaded on Tuesday.


	7. Valar Bodmaghis – All Men Must Teach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alice asked: 
> 
> _How about a showverse fic where Theon bonds with Varys and Grey Worm and realizes that what Ramsay did to him doesn't make him any less of a man?_
> 
> This one is a continuation of the previous chapter, though it can also stand on its own. Also, I could like to add a disclaimer that I do not endorse murdering your enemies. Murder is bad, mmm'kay?

Grey Worm was a trained soldier. A seasoned fighter with super-heightened awareness. Of course he knew the man was watching. He had seen more stealth from war elephants. He did not know, however, if he should continue to ignore him. He did not seem to be a danger, but Queen Daenerys allowed him very close to her, him and his sister, who claimed to have sailed all the way across the world to meet with his Queen. They claimed to be allies.

Greyjoy, he remembered. Yara was the woman’s name. Theon was the man’s. And it was the man who watched him, though for what reason Grey Worm could not discern. He would tolerate it, in the name of peace, and only act if _he_ acted to hurt his Queen.

Or so he told himself.

But then he caught the man—Theon Greyjoy—watching him and Missandei, peering at them from around a pillar as they embraced and kissed. And that was not something he would stand for. He drew his dagger, much to Missandei’s alarm. Much to Theon Greyjoy’s alarm, too, because he was out from behind his pillar in an instant, stumbling over himself. Grey Worm caught up to him easily and caught him by the scruff of his collar.

“You.” He held the dagger under his nose. “Why are you watching us?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Theon Greyjoy jerked in his grasp and trembled like a beaten dog. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”

“ _Why_ were you watching us?”

Theon Greyjoy looked to Missandei. “I was…”

“You do not look at her.” Grey Worm forced the edge of his blade closer. “You look at me.”

Theon Greyjoy did. Kept his wide eyes focused on Grey Worm, even as Missandei came up and put a hand on the dagger.

“You should not threaten the Queen’s guests,” she hissed.

“He has no right to be watching us.”

“Please, I’m sorry,” the man whimpered. “I—I wanted to see if—what they say about you—the Unsullied—but you—the two of you…” He trailed off, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

“You wish to laugh at me?” Grey Worm sneered.

“No, no!” he protested. “I—you—we—the both of us—”

“Put aside your blade, Grey Worm.”

Everyone turned to see the Queen’s advisor materialize. One of them, at least. She seemed to gather them wherever she went.  This particular one was Varys, but some called him the Spider. Grey Worm could see why. He had not heard the man approach at all.

Grey Worm held a certain respect for him. Certainly anyone who could put the Queen’s smaller, mouthier advisor to silence was a warrior in his own right. He lowered his dagger out of respect, but did not release his hold on Theon Greyjoy.

Varys glided forward. Yes, glided. He continuously kept his hands hidden in his sleeves, and Grey Worm could not even be sure he had any hands. “I’m sure our friend here meant no harm.” He nodded to Theon Greyjoy. “He is merely curious. Aren’t you?”

“I am not here to sate his curiosity.”

“Quite right,” Varys agreed. “But nonetheless, I’m sure we can resolve this matter without bloodshed. Lord Greyjoy’s sister is, I’m led to believe, quite protective of him, given what happened.”

Theon Greyjoy flinched.

“Let us put this misunderstanding aside,” Varys continued with a bob of his head. “Missandei, my dear, I hate to be rude, as you _were_ here first, but would you leave us? I’m afraid we’re going to discuss certain delicate topics that you may find disagreeable. Certain…manly topics.”

“She has a right to know,” Grey Worm said, “why he was watching us.”

But Missandei seemed to grasp what the Spider meant. But then again, she was an interpreter. She bowed her head in understanding. “I will see you later, Grey Worm, Lord Varys.” She nodded to them in turn. “Lord Greyjoy.” Then she walked away, hands clasped cordially in front of her.

Once she was gone, Varys cocked his head towards Grey Worm. “Would you be so kind as to release Lord Greyjoy?”

Grey Worm did, and Theon Greyjoy staggered free, nearly tripping.

“Now then, let us be gentlemen about this matter. Come, have a seat.” He glided to the settees looking out onto the pyramid’s vast veranda, which in turn looked out across the city of Mereen and Slaver’s Bay. He took a seat on one and motioned to them, with his eyes, to take the other. To sit side by side.

Theon Greyjoy obeyed quickly enough, crawling into his seat like a whipped cur. He sat stiffly and awkwardly, hands clutching his knees. Grey Worm thought, briefly, about simply turning and leaving. But he would have his explanation. So he strode the space of the room and sat next to Theon Greyjoy, whose whole body went noticeably stiffer as he did so.

“Good,” Varys said with an unknowable smile. “Now, Lord Greyjoy, why don’t you tell Grey Worm why you were watching him?”

“I…wanted to know…how you…are able…” He paused to swallow. “Able to be with a woman.”

Grey Worm glowered. “You think you are the first man to ask this? You think you are clever, to ask how an Unsullied soldier pleasures a woman?”

The hands on his knees gripped tighter. “Not a man.”

Grey Worm leaned closer. “What?”

“I’m not. A man. I don’t…”

“Lord Greyjoy is like us,” Varys said. “A man lacking…certain attributes.”

Theon Greyjoy lifted his head and stared in horror at the Spider.

“I apologize,” Varys said, raising a hand as if to ward off scandal. “I am not usually so blunt, but you are not speaking and our friend here,” he looked to Grey Worm, “is not hearing. So let us not have more misunderstandings.”

“How do you know?” Theon Greyjoy said.

“It’s true that I don’t have many birds in the North, but I do have some. And I did hear a small twitter about a certain package that had been sent to Balon Greyjoy.”

“So it’s true.” Theon Greyjoy stared into his lap. “You, my uncle…everyone knows.”

Silence.

“You…are like the Unsullied,” Grey Worm began slowly, uncertainly. “You are…” He tried to remember the word Missandei had taught him. “Eunuch?”

He flinched.

“So you watch me…to learn…”

“There was a woman in Volantis,” he said, filling in Grey Worm’s confused silence. “A whore. My sister’s men bought her as company for me. As a joke.” He clasped his hands together over his lap. “But she…showed me things. She…I had never thought…” His knuckles stood out against his paper-thin skin. “She taught me how a ma—someone like me—like us—can receive pleasure. But I wanted to know how I might…give…” He trailed off.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that matter,” Varys said. “The whole thing has never interested me. And, I believe, up until a short while ago, Grey Worm may have told you the same. But now…”

 “How?” Theon Greyjoy lifted his head and looked at Grey Worm. Looked so hard, so beseechingly, that Grey Worm was a bit concerned the man would injure himself with the intensity of it. “How can you…after…after what they…?” His face was growing red now, as if it were physically painful to speak the words. “After they took away your manhood?”

“They did not take away my manhood,” Grey Worm answered.

Theon Greyjoy’s intense stare softened into a look of puzzlement. He turned to Varys, asking some question with his eyes.

“Have I misunderstood?” Grey Worm asked. “Manhood means…to be a man.”

“Yes, well,” Varys said, “but it also means the, erm…”  He tilted his head. “ _Physical_ aspect of being a man.”

“Your language is very confusing,” Grey Worm admitted. “Yes, the masters of Astapor took away my physical manhood when they cut me, but they did not take away my ability to _be_ a man. Many an enemy has thought differently, and always the Unsullied have corrected them.” He held out his dagger as proof. “For Unsullied, there is only one test of manhood. That you breathe and your enemy does not.”

“I, myself, use a similar rubric,” Varys agreed with a slight smile, “though I’m afraid I’ve never wielded a weapon in my life.”

Theon Greyjoy looked at his hands, flexed them. Grey Worm saw that a finger was missing on his right hand. “I am…afraid of my enemy. My enemies.”

“If your enemies have given you fear, then you must return it to them,” Grey Worm announced, standing. “Tenfold.”

“I believe revenge and spite are lessons that can wait for another day.” Varys stood and brushed nonexistent dust from his robes. Grey Worm caught a flash of his hands insides his sleeves. Ah, so he did have them after all. “For now, shall we say your little dispute is over?”

Grey Worm sheathed his dagger and held his hand out for Theon Greyjoy to take. The man stared at it for a moment, before taking it, hesitantly. It was the hand with the missing finger. Grey Worm held it tight and helped him to stand. “I am not your enemy, friend Theon Greyjoy,” he proclaimed, still clasping the maimed hand. “You have no need to fear me.” He offered his best smile, which Tyrion Lannister had told him was terrifying. “Unless I find you spying on Missandei and I again.”


	8. Valar Mazōris – All Men Must Accept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theon Greysad : 
> 
> _I really need a kidfic where Theon gets excluded by the other kids at Winterfell because he's a Greyjoy but Robb sticks by him anyway._
> 
> I probably messed up the ages because I don't math so well sometimes. Now with 75% more bby!Theon and bby!Robb.

Sansa got to call the roles, by virtue of being Sansa. She took her duties very seriously and ruled the game with an iron fist. “I’m the princess,” she stated, because that was always the first order of business.

“What about me?” Jeyne asked.

“Yes, you can be a princess too. You’re my sister. And we’re both princesses.”

Jeyne clapped her hands, while Theon rolled his eyes.

“Robb is the knight.”

Robb nodded in understanding. Such tasks usually befell him, though he’d never expressed any interest in being a knight.

“What about me?” Jon asked.

“You can be the knight’s squire.”

“I don’t want to be the knight’s squire. I want to be a knight too.”

Sansa puffed out her cheeks at the challenge. She was quite terrifying for a five-year-old. “No, you’re the squire.”

“Cheer up, Jon,” Theon said in that teasing voice that Robb knew, because Theon had intimated it to him, was designed to rankle the younger boy. “Squire’s not too bad for a bastard.”

Jon glared at him but didn’t say anything back. Just kicked at the ground and muttered about the squire becoming a knight someday.

“And you, Theon,” Sansa said, pointing to him. “You’re the bad knight.”

“What? Again?”

“Why are you so surprised?” Jon mumbled. “She always makes us play the same thing, over and over.”

“But why do I have to be the bad knight?” Theon shot back, as if Jon were in collusion with the girls. “All the time?”

“I thought you liked playing the bad knight,” Robb said.

“But the bad knight always _loses_! Come on, let me play the good knight for once.”

“You can be the squire,” Jon offered.

“No, he can’t be the squire.” Sansa stamped her foot. “Theon’s got to be the bad knight. He’s from the bad House, so that’s how it’s got to be.”

Theon balked. “What do you mean the ‘bad House?’The Greyjoys are as old and respectable as the Starks.”

“Mother says you like to steal stuff that doesn’t belong to you. You don’t like to make your own clothes, so you steal other people’s.”

“What are you on about?”

“Your House words. We do not sew.”

“Oh, for—” Theon rolled his eyes. “Your mother is just angry because her House is weaker than mine and couldn’t even defend itself from our raiders. So, really, I should be playing the Knight because I’m from a strong House.”

“If your House is so strong,” Jon said, “why’d they lose the war they started.”

Theon’s eyes widened, and then Jon’s did too, as if he hadn’t fully thought out what he’d just said.

“Fine.” Theon threw his wooden sword on the ground. “I don’t want to play this stupid game for girls anyway.” He started to stalk away, the paused, turned, and called over his shoulder, “A stupid game for _baby_ girls!” Then he really did storm off.

Sansa didn’t miss a beat. “Fine. Jon, you’re the bad knight.”

Jon groaned.

“Alright, Robb, now here’s—”

“I’m sorry, Sansa.” Robb set his sword down, albeit gentler than Theon had. “I can’t play now. I’ve got to go check on Theon.”

Sansa blinked in confusion. “Why?”

“He’s upset.”

“No he’s not. He’s just angry because he doesn’t get to play the good knight.”

“You shouldn’t have said those things about his House.”

“Why not? It’s true isn’t it?”

“Well…it’s rude.”

Sansa’s face went pale. “Rude? I wasn’t—Jeyne, was I rude? Princesses aren’t supposed to be rude.”

Robb sighed. “I’ll explain later. Why don’t you have Jon be the knight and he can rescue you from a monster or something?”

“A-alright,” she agreed, still looking a bit shaken at the possibility that she’d been rude. “Maybe we could have Arya be our monster.”

Robb left them and hurried after Theon, who had disappearedinto the stables. There he found him, on a stepstool, with a heavy saddlein his arms threatening to send him toppling over his pony. He nearly did topple when Robb called, “What are you doing?”

He turned with a sour look on his face. “Leave me alone, Stark. I’m going for a ride.”

“You can’t ride by yourself.”

“Can too. I’m eleven years old and I know how to saddle a horse and you should just mind your own business, Stark.”

Why was he calling him Stark? Theon always called him Robb.

“I’m sorry Sansa was rude to you.”

“Like I care what some little girl thinks about me.” He wrestled the saddle onto the pony and was winded from the effort as he hopped down from the stepstool.

“Your House isn’t bad.”

“And I don’t care what you think either,” Theon snapped. He went to the wall and reached for the bridles. “You think you’re so much better than me.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes you do! Everybody here does. Just because my House isn’t full of fancy Lords and Ladies who pretend like they’re so much more civilized. Like they’re above stealing and killing and all that stuff. Well, they’re not. I was at the execution the other day, when your lord father took the head off a thief. Turns out there are thieves in the North too. And murderers. Your father’s one of them.”

Robb felt his anger flush. “My father is _not_ a murderer.”

“Sure he is. Always chopping people’s heads off. Chop, chop.” Theon fiddled with the bridle and reins, trying to untangle it, before giving up and throwing that, too, on the ground in defeat.“You just don’t call it murdering because it’s for _civilized_ reasons.”

“You’re being a twat.”

“Oh, a _twat_.Big word for an eight-year-old.Not very nice.Not very civilized.”

Robb clenched his fists in frustration. “Why are you being this way?”

“Because I’m a Greyjoy,” he spat. “And that’s how we act.”

Robb didn’t understand why Theon was being so mean. Theon wasn’t usually so mean. Well, sometimes, to Jon. But never to him.

“No, it’s not.” He stepped forward, clenching his fists because he wanted to punch Theon until he stopped acting like such a…jerk. “All The Greyjoys I know are nice. They’re nice and funny and smart and brave.”

Theon scoffed. “Do you _know_ any other Greyjoys besides me?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t know.”

“I don’t care.” Robb sniffed. He wasn’t supposed to cry. “You’re my friend.”

Theon stopped and stared at him. Like he’d just said something wrong.

Robb jutted out his chin in response.

“We’re not _friends_ , Robb.” Not Stark. “We can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Theon started to talk, then seemed to realize he hadn’t thought that far. So he thought for a moment before starting again. “Because my House and your mother’s House hate each other. And your father killed my brothers. And I’m from a bad House and your sister is right, _I’m_ bad.”

“I don’t think you’re bad.”

“Like I said, I don’t care what you think. You’re just a little kid.”

Robb scowled and grabbed Theon’s hand. “Let’s play, just the two of us. I’ll let you be the good knight who wins.”

Theon stared at him. But not like he’d said something wrong this time. Rather, he seemed startled by the act. Robb realized he’d never held Theon’s hand before. He held Jon’s hand, and Sansa’s and Arya’s. But it was weird that he’d never held Theon’s, when Theon had been living with him at least as long as Sansa, and definitely longer than Arya.

“Theon, let’s be brothers.”

Theon blinked. “What?”

“Brothers.Like how my dad and the King are brothers. They’re not from the same House, but they’re brothers anyway. So let’s be like that.”

“Why would you want me as your brother?”

“I already told you. Because you’re nice and funny and…” He tried to think of what else he’d said. “You know lots of things and you’re really good at shooting arrows and…” He tried to think of more things he could say. “I like you.”

Theon stared down at their joined hands. Robb’s wasn’t as big as his, of course, but he held on as tightly as he could. With a sigh, Theon squeezed back. “You know, sometimes you make it so hard.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He sighed again and let go of Robb’s hand. “Alright, sure, we’re brothers. Happy?But no more little girl games. We’re going to play something where we can both win.”

“Like what?” Robb asked eagerly.

Theon lifted his eyebrows. “Want to go steal something sweet from the kitchens?”

“I…I don’t know,” Robb admitted.

“Come on, Robb.” Theon tugged on his hand. “Let’s go be a little uncivilized.”


	9. Valar Epis – All Men Must Ask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EOS4 said: 
> 
> _Pre-Ramsay Theon and Sansa would be awesome!_

Sansa cried for three straight days. Not for the Prince, she’d never met him, but rather for her perfect dream. Dashed against the rocks like the Prince’s head. He’d been thrown from his horse, her golden-haired Prince, three days before he was set to leave for Winterfell.

It wasn’t fair.

On the third day, she went to sept on her mother’s suggestion, because “praying to the Gods is better than crying into a pillow.” So she knelt at the pew, hands clasped, and prayed. Out loud she said, “Oh Seven, please watch over Prince Joffrey now that he is in your merciful care.” But to herself she said, “Why, Seven, did you steal my Prince away from me?”

Praying did not make her feel any better.

On the way out of sept, she heard the sound of laughter. Arya’s, if she weren’t mistaken.Little brat.She’d had the gall to ask, “Why is everyone so upset about some dumb kid who couldn’t even ride his horse properly?” Sansa had so badly wanted to slap her then. But she hadn’t. She’d shown remarkable control in front of her mother and Septa Mordane and had ignored her.

She vowed to keep ignoring her, too, as she gathered up her skirts to cut through the courtyard. But just then, an arrow went sailing past, no more than a foot or two from where she stood, and thunked into the door of the sept.

Sansa gasped, several seconds after the fact, when her mind finally caught up with her. From around the corner she heard someone yell, “I’m _looking_!” A second later, Theon emerged, holding a bow that seemed too small for him. As he looked around—for the arrow, she realized—his eyes landed on her. And then on the sept door.

“Shit,” he said.

Sansa blinked, not sure if she should be scandalized by his language or not.

He trotted over to her. “Sorry about that.” He grabbed the arrow and ripped it from the door in one quick movement.“Arya was a little _off_ with her aim.”

“In the completely opposite direction of the targets?”

He shrugged. “Alright, r _eally_ off.”

“On purpose.”

“Perhaps.” He slipped the arrow into the quiver on his back. “Most likely.”

“She’s a brat.”

“You’re the one who said it, not me. But, uh, maybe you won’t tell anyone about this?”

Sansa wrinkled her nose. She’d love to get Arya into trouble. Mother still hadn’t properly punished her for her thoughtless comments about Prince Joffrey. And if it were Arya asking, she’d definitely laugh in her face.

But it wasn’t Arya. It was Theon. She’d always had a fondness for him. He was just so…handsome and exotic and dark and mysterious. She tried not to blush when he smiled at her now. His eyes were very pretty, too, she couldn’t help but notice.

“I won’t tell,” she answered smartly.

“Good girl.”

Heat pooled in her face.

“Your face is very red.”

Oh!

“Have you been crying again?”

Oh.

“N-no,” she lied, wiping at her cheeks anyway. “I was just…praying.”

“You really shouldn’t be so upset about the Prince,” Theon said. “You wouldn’t have liked being married to him anyway. I heard he had a tiny little prick.”

Her embarrassment turned to anger. “You shouldn’t speak of him that way!”

“I’m just trying to make you feel better.”

“Yes, well,” she huffed, “don’t.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face. It had come loose from her braid during her fervent prayer session, and now she supposed she looked a bit of a mess. “He was my betrothed. We were going to get _married_. I was going to be a _princess_.”

“Is that why you’re crying? You’re upset that you don’t get to be a princess?”

“No!” She decided he really wasn’t that good-looking at all, and his smile was stupid. She didn’t want to talk to him anymore and started to walk away.

“He wouldn’t have deserved you, you know.”

Despite herself, she stopped in her tracks.

“Some towheaded Southron ponce who’d never even met you before. He wouldn’t know how you have a gentle heart and a noble spirit. He wouldn’t know that you are ambitious, that you master every craft you’ve ever tried your hand at, and that you daydream constantly.”

“I don’t—”

“He would have learned quickly how beautiful and charming you are,” Theon went on. “He would have been taken with you immediately, of course. He would have been struck speechless, just laying eyes on you. He would have kissed your hand. And I’d have had to watch as he _learned_ all these things that I already know about you.”

And just like that, any anger she’d felt for his earlier words melted away. She looked at him, studied him. The way he looked at her, the way he stood, listing ever so slightly to the right. The way he’d stopped smiling, as if this were very serious business.

“Theon?”

He fiddled with the bow in his hands. It was Arya’s, she realized. That’s why it was so small. He’d probably taken it so she couldn’t do any more damage while he left her unattended. “I’m sure you’ll get a lord husband who’s worthy of your affection.”

 

 

***

 

Sansa didn’t cry again that day. Or the next. Her sadness had mysteriously dissipated. Replaced by…something else.

Whatever it was, apparently she wore it on her face, because even Arya noticed. “What’s gotten into you?” she asked one morning at breakfast. “First you were upset over Prince Falls-Off-His-Horse, and now you’re…” She speared her eggs with her fork. “ _Happy_. I don’t get it.”

“I am not,” Sansa defended. “I’m still very upset about Prince Joffrey.” She straightened up in her chair. “I’ve just made peace with the Gods about it. That’s all.”

Arya wrinkled her nose. “Is _that_ why you’ve been walking around with that stupid smile on your face? Because you’ve ‘made peace with the Gods’?”

“You’re such a brat!”

“Quiet, you two,” their mother said calmly. “Arya, your sister’s been going through a difficult time. If you can’t offer sympathy, perhaps you can offer silence.”

Arya huffed and sank lower in her seat, pushing her food around on her plate.

Sansa sighed and set her own fork aside. “Mother, what’s going to happen now that Prince Joffrey…now that we’re no longer betrothed?” As upset as she’d been at the news, she hadn’t even thought to ask.

“You don’t need to worry,” her mother said. “We’ll find you another match.” She smiled warmly and reached over to place her hand over top of Sansa’s. “King Robert has another son. Or perhaps another noble House. Any fine young lord would count himself lucky to have you as his bride.”

Arya made a gagging sound and Sansa shot her a _look_. Then turned back to her mother. “Could…I get to help pick?”

“We’ll see.” Catelyn gave her hand a squeeze. “Is there someone you hand in mind?”

Sansa looked down at her plate. She could already feel her face growing warm.

“Theon,” Arya spoke up through a mouthful of food, the little savage.

“Theon?” Catelyn repeated incredulously.

“She’s in looove with him.”

“Shut up.” Sansa did slap her then. Slapped her right on the arm, when she’d really been aiming for her face, because Arya was already up from her chair and dancing away.Sticking her tongue out. “I do not.” She looked back to her mother in horror. “Mother, I do _not_ love Theon.”

“Yes she does. I saw them talking the other day outside the sept. Your face was redder than a beetroot.”

“I was crying!” she cried in defense.

Her mother squeezed her hand again to bring her attention back. “Don’t worry, sweetie. We won’t make you marry Theon.”

“Oh,” she answered. Then, “Why not?”

“Well…” Catelyn didn’t seem entirely prepared for that question. “It wouldn’t make sense politically.”

“But don’t you think it would make the Greyjoys behave, to tie them to our House through marriage?”

Catelyn screwed up her face. “Who told you that? Was it Robb?”

“No.” She shook her head in furious denial. “Nobody told me. I just thought…”

“Oh, honey. Are you afraid that we’re going to marry you off to Theon?” Her mother used her hold on her hand to pull her in for a hug. She smoothed down her hair as if she were a small child and said, “Don’t worry. I would never do that to you.”

“Would it really be so terrible, being married to Theon?”

Catelyn clicked her tongue. She looked like she had a great deal to say on the matter, but instead she simply said, “That’s not something you’ll ever have to worry about.”

 

***

 

A few days later, a raven came from Aunt Lysa. Sansa never learned what was in the letter, but suddenly after that, Tommen Baratheon was off the table as her fiancé.

 

***

 

“Sorry.”

Sansa was startled and nearly dropped her stitch. As she fumbled with her needles, she looked up to see Theon watching over her shoulder. She hadn’t even heard him come up, so intent was she on her knitting. She was much better at sewing; it came much more naturally to her than this. Her creation was hideous—all lopsided and uneven—and she wanted to hide it from him, so she set it down in her lap, perhaps a bit more forcefully than was necessary.

“Sorry about your prince, I mean,” he said. “Robb told me.”

It took her a second to understand what he was talking about. “Oh,” she said. “Thank you, but I’m fine. Honestly.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not upset about losing a second chance to be a princess?”

“Not really, not.”

He shrugged, as if he weren’t really convinced but didn’t want to argue the point.

“Mother thinks I should marry Jon Arryn.”

“The dead guy’s kid? The one they call Sweet Robin?” Theon scoffed, then seemed to realize who he was talking to, and quickly amended, “A bit of a step down from the Crown Prince, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa answered airily. “I would be Lady of the Vale. Unless…” She picked up her knitting and started a new row. “You think _he_ wouldn’t deserve me either.”

She smiled in satisfaction to see his face turn slightly pink. “I’m not sure what my opinion has to do with it,” he said.

“It matters because I don’t _want_ to marry Sweet Robin.”

“Oh? Who _do_ you want to marry then?”

Sansa let the knocking of her needles be the answer.

 

***

 

Theon looked very handsome in his groom’s finery, if not a little overwhelmed, like he couldn’t quite figure out how he’d ended up here. Still, when Sansa smiled to him, he smiled back. She could hardly believe it herself. Had she truly been so bold? It still felt like something out of a dream, going to her mother, announcing her intentions.

There had been arguing, trying to sway her out of her decision—Theon cannot be trusted, the Greyjoys cannot be trusted, Pyke is a cold and miserable place. Even Theon had put up a token resistance to dissuade her—it is not a place for fine dresses and elaborate balls.

“Then I will have fine dresses brought in,” she said. “And we will attend the other lords’ balls. We’ll attend together, as Lord and Lady Greyjoy. And if the Iron Islands are really as drab as everyone says they are, then I suppose we’ll just have to bring some color to them, won’t we.”

In the end, it was Robb who had settled the matter. During an impassioned argument with their mother, Robb had finally stood and said, “Mother, Theon and Sansa have known each other their entire lives. Would you really rather send Sansa to live with someone she’s never _met_ before in a _place_ she’s never _been_ before? Or would you rather she marry someone she adores, who’s a good match for her politically, and who, most importantly, won’t think twice about traveling the distance from Pyke to Winterfell to visit me? Twice a year, probably.”

Catelyn had warmed to the idea after that.

Lord Eddard Stark finished escorting his daughter down the aisle, between the gathered lords and ladies, the lesser noble houses and vassals, and unlooped their linked arms. Theon reached out for her hand, but paused when he caught her father glaring at him. “You will treat her well, of course,” he said.

Theon nodded, then seemed to rediscover his nerve and stood to his full height, chin up, shoulders back. “My Lord, I may not be a prince, but I will treat her like a princess all the same.”

Sansa could barely contain herself as she took Theon’s hand and he led her up to the altar, where the septon waited to join them as husband and wife. Was it just a few months ago that she’d come to this very sept to cry over her fate? Who would have thought that Prince Joffrey’s death would be the best thing that could happen to her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. The last chapter will be up tomorrow. :)


	10. Valar Dakis – All Men Must Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TerryPratchett'sASongofIceandFire asked: 
> 
> _Could we get Team Theon or Team Throbb versus some sort of cheesy horror movie monster?_
> 
> Feel free to point at me and yell, "Nnneeeerd!" for this one. :)

“Okay.” Theon turned off the lights, and the Starks’ living room was left illuminated by only the dim glow of a half dozen tea candles.

“Cripes,” Gendry breathed, “you really went all out, Greyjoy.”

Theon took his seat at the head of the coffee table. The candles cast flickering light across his face. “This…” His cocky grin seemed downright evil tonight as he looked around the gathered. “Is no ordinary séance.You want a Ouija board reading?Go talk to the Parker Brothers.”

“Hasbro,” Robb corrected.

Theon ignored him.“This…” Another pause as he drew a book, massive and leathery, from under the table. Arcane runes, gilt in gold, intertwined one another on the cover. “Is next level shit right here.”

“What is that?”Arya squinted in the darkness. “Your D&D manual?”

Sansa nudged her under the table. Which led to Arya shoving her.Which led to Sansa shoving her back, which led to Arya slapping her, until finally Robb had to step in to break them apart. He wedged himself in between them and sat like that, then nodded for Theon to continue.

“I found this in my Uncle Aeron’s stuff,” Theon went on.

“You mean your weird uncle?” Jon asked.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific,” Theon said back.

“The uncle with the…?” Jon mimed a beard with his hand. “And the…?” He made a twirling motion with his finger, indicating a broken clock in his head.

“Still need to be a bit more specific.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “The one who’s part of that crazy doomsday cult.”

“The Order of the Drowned God,” Theon corrected. “Yes, that’s the one. He told me once that anyone who reads the Drowned God’s holy book will go insane. So we’re going to crack this baby open.” He opened the cover and a cloud of dust came flying off the pages. Even from his spot across the table, Robb could smell the must of it, and something else, like low tide. The book looked like it had been waterlogged at one point, because the pages were all yellowed and curling in on themselves. The ink they’d been printed with was bright red.

“This is super lame,” Arya announced. “You promised me ghosts and real supernatural shit.”

She tried to stand, but Gendry grabbed her by the sleeve and tugged her back into her seat. “I want to see what happens.”

“You really think Theon’s going to summon something with the _Cultist’s Handbook of Crazy_?” Arya rolled her eyes.

“Ignore her,” Sansa said. “She gets like this whenever someone mentions anything related to religion. It’s because of those weird Unitarians she’s been hanging out with.”

“For the last time, we’re not Unitarians, goddammit! We just believe that all other deities are an expression of a singular concept, and that’s death.”

“Is that why you hold a fight club in the school’s boiler room every Friday?”

“How do you know about that?”

Robb could tell this was quickly going to get out of hand again, so he stepped in, “Why don’t you start, Theon?”

Theon sat up straight and squared his shoulders. “I’ll summon the big guy himself, the Drowned God, just for you, Arya.”

Gendry sat up straighter too. “ _This_ I’ve got to see.”

The pages crinkled as Theon flipped through them. His eyes were alight with the reflection of the candles’ flames. “Okay,” he announced, holding a hand up. “This one has an inscription here: _That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die_.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Arya asked.

“That’s the only part that’s in English. The rest says…um…” He screwed up his face as he tried to pronounce the words correctly. “ _Tatre a mistrobeen…ha zar ta tantir man…”_

The candles flickered.

“Um…Theon.”

Theon waved Jon off. _“Ovmansizonnhazann…sobar sum undaropsadar his…”_

Outside, the wind howled.

“I really don’t think you should—”

_“Hyk err duns de rod sa Kanda_.” With a pleased look on his face, Theon snapped the book closed. Just as the candles blew out.

Everyone sat in darkness and silence. The only sound was the wind and the scratching of tree branches against the window.

“Must have blown a fuse,” Robb finally said, and started to stand. “Good thing we’ve got—”

He stopped dead at the sound of footsteps. Slowly making their way up the front walkway.

“I…I thought your folks weren’t supposed to be home for several hours,” Gendry said.

“They’re not,” Robb answered. And anyway, that gait—one step, followed by a sliding sound against the paving stones—didn’t match his parents’. Who else would it be, though? In the middle of the night, in the middle of a storm?

The footsteps drew nearer. Step, scrape, step scrape.

Up the front steps. Step, scrape, step, scrape.

Silence.

Robb held his breath, waiting for the knock. But instead, there came a scratching. Like the tree branches on the windows. Robb’s hair stood on end as he thought perhaps it hadn’t been tree branches at all. Someone out there was definitely scratching. With long fingernails, it sounded like. And a soft grunting, snuffling sound, like a rooting pig.

Everyone looked at each other.

“I’m not answering that,” Arya announced.

“Maybe they’ll leave,” Sansa said, hand clasped at his throat. “The lights are off and—”

She screamed and everyone turned to hush her.

“Something dripped on me,” she hissed.

“Probably just rain,” Theon said.

“Inside? And anyway, it’s _thick_ and _warm_.”

Robb recognized the look on Theon’s face, that he was going to open his mouth and say something incredibly inappropriate, so he jumped in and said, “Theon, would you go get a flashlight? You know where they are.”

Theon muttered something under his breath and went to go do it, while Robb knelt down by Sansa’s side. The scratching at the door continued.

“Arya, go check out the peephole. Don’t—don’t open it. Just look out, okay?”

Arya nodded and bounced to her feet. Gendry followed after her like a puppy, pulling out his phone to light the way.

Robb used his own phone to light Sansa’s outstretched hand, to see what had dripped on her. The glow from the screen illuminated the green substance on her fingers, and the stain it had left on her shirt. It was thick, like snot, and smelled slightly of seawater. Also warm, when Robb took it and rubbed it between his fingers. He lifted his phone to ceiling, to see where it might have come from, but the beam didn’t reach that far. He stood, but at that moment, Theon called from the kitchen, “Um, Robb, th-there’s something—I think you should see this.”

In a flash, Robb was on his feet and running for the kitchen. “What? What is it?”

Theon just stood by the cabinet where he’d fished the flashlight from. Stood there and cast the beam of light at the wall. Which was currently bleeding the same green substance from the living room.It oozed from the ceiling and crawled down the wall in long tendrils. Theon turned the flashlight around to show more of the substance oozing from the cabinets and refrigerator. “I think you’ve got a serious mold issue.”

As Robb looked at the substance, it seemed to be…pulsing. Expanding, contracting, then reaching farther. Breathing almost.

“Yeah, okay,” he said.“I’m calling Mom and Dad.” Robb began dialing. As it rang, he grabbed Theon’s wrist and dragged him back into the living room. “Okay, everyone,” he announced, phone to his ear as he waited for his parents to pick up. “Just stay together and don’t panic. I’m going to—”

A piercing screech erupted through his phone. He cursed and dropped it, ears ringing. It continued to scream at him before abruptly cutting off.

“What was that?” Sansa asked.

“I don’t…know?” Robb bent to retrieve the phone. Only to find it was so hot to the touch that he dropped it again. The carpet began smoking where it lay, and he quickly kicked it into the kitchen, where the floor tiles would hopefully not combust into flame.

He was beginning to suspect something very odd was going on.

“Theon, what was in that passage you read?”

Theon, flashlight in one hand, used the other to clutch his uncle’s book tightly to his chest. “I only read what was there.”

Robb held out his hands. “Give it here.”

Theon balked. “What are you going to do?”

“Just give it here. I want to see that page.”

“Robb,” Jon said, “you don’t actually think—”

A flash of light filled the room, followed by a clap of thunder that made them all jump. For a second, Gendry was illuminated in the living room entryway, looking rather spooked for a six-foot-tall high school quarterback. Then the room went dark again, save for Theon’s flashlight.

“Gendry?” Jon took a step towards him. “Where’s Arya?”

“She answered the door.” His voice sounded very faraway. He did not elaborate.

“And?” Robb prompted.

“Oh.” He blinked. “It got her.”

“ _It_?”Theon asked.

“ _Got her_?” Robb and Jon screamed over him.

Gendry just kind of stared at them with a faraway stare. They stared back as, from the arch of the doorway, something long and slimy and black reached out and wrapped itself around Gendry’s neck. And yanked him back into the entrance hallway before anyone could even make a sound of warning.

A second passed where no one reacted.

Then Sansa screamed. Not a startled scream. A scream of terror.

She wasn’t the only one. Theon dropped his flashlight and latched onto Robb for dear life. Robb might have appreciated it—his longtime crush, hugging him while sober—except for the fact that something decidedly not human was in their entry hall and had gotten both Arya and Gendry.

Step, scrape, step, scrape.

Whatever it was, it was dragging itself towards them now. Robb grabbed the dropped flashlight and trained it on the spot Gendry had been standing.

Step, scrape, step, scrape. Grunting.

Suddenly, Robb felt like someone had stabbed him through the gut. He knew with a certainty that he didn’t want to see that thing, whatever it was. He pulled the light away and instead pointed it towards the kitchen. “Run,” he said, grabbing Theon’s hand. “Everyone! Run!”

It seemed that they could feel it too, because as one, they leapt to their feet and made for the back door through the kitchen. Robb was in the lead, pulling Theon along. Jon followed, with Sansa close behind. Robb could hear _it_ slithering after them, slow and methodical.

He reached the French doors that led out to the back porch. Here he had to let go of Theon’s wrist to throw the doors wide open. A torrent of rain and wind hit him full in the face, but he simply threw out an arm to shield himself as best he could. He reached for Theon’s hand again, and this time Theon reached back. The feel of his friend’s callused hand in his own gave Robb a momentary sense of security, before the sound of the _thing_ reminded him that now was not the time to wallow in butterfly feelings.

Jon and Sansa followed his lead out onto the porch, down the stairs, and onto the wide expanse of lawn. The grass was slick, and the driving rain made it difficult to tell where they were headed. Through the howling wind, he heard a scream, unmistakably Sansa’s.

He didn’t _want_ to turn, didn’t _want_ to see what was following them, but Sansa…

He turned. And saw a black mass filling the doorway to the house. Well, black was the wrong color to call it. It seemed to suck all color and light with it, that writhing, shapeless mass of _parts_. A thousand worm-like tentacles reached out, pulled it along. A thousand eyes focused straight on Sansa, where she had slipped and fallen.

One of the tentacles found her ankle and began to drag her back. She kicked and screamed and twisted, but couldn’t seem to escape its grasp.Couldn’t find purchase in the slippery grass. It hauled her effortlessly into its mass, and her red hair was claimed by the colorless darkness.

“Sansa!” Jon started back, but Robb grabbed his shoulder.

“Jon, there’s nothing you can do.”

Jon looked at the spot where Sansa had disappeared—and where the thing was making its way across the lawn after them—and then back at Robb. With a frustrated growl, he turned away and they continued running.

There was a shed at the edge of the property. If they could get there, if they could barricade themselves inside until…until help came… _Would_ help come? Robb’s panicked mind couldn’t think much past the immediate moment.

He slammed headlong into the shed, pulled the door handle. No one had mowed back here in a long time, and the long, uncut grass made it difficult to open the door more than a crack.But the sound of the thing’s pursuit and knowing he had to protect Theon and Jon where he’d failed the others gave Robb the strength to pull it free. With a triumphant cry, he dragged both Jon and Theon inside and slammed the door behind them.

Inside was dark and smelled like lawn clippings and gasoline and sawdust. Theon snapped on the light, a bare lightbulb with a pull chain. It bounced and caused light to dance around the toolshed, illuminating walls of power tools.

“Help me barricade the door!” Robb yelled. Together, they managed to haul a heavy tool shelf in front of the door to block it, then collapsed against the far wall, breathing heavily.

“What _is_ that?” Theon asked, still panting.

“Whatever it is, it’s _your_ fault,” Jon panted back.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you and your stupid book. Now we’re all going to die because of you!”

“Stop it, the both of you!” Robb, seated between them, held his hands out to halt their bickering. They’d write on his tombstone: _He lived as he died—breaking up petty arguments_.

Theon clutched the book to his chest like a schoolgirl and stared at the door intently. “It opens outwards,” he remarked.

Robb looked at him, then at their barricade. Barricades were meant to keep doors from swinging _inwards_. “Shit.”

Jon drew in a deep breath and staggered to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Robb demanded.

“I’m not going to sit here and wait for that thing to come get me.” He studied the wall of power tools, before deciding on something. He reached up and pulled the chainsaw down from its hook. “This havefuel in it?”

“Uh…yeah, I think so. But—”

“Good.” He hefted it in his arms and headed for the door.

“Jon, wait, you can’t—”

Jon stepped over the barricade and pulled the ripcord on the chainsaw. It buzzed to life. “I’ll try to give you two some more time.” He kicked the door open. It swung outwards. The sound of the _thing_ making its way across the lawn towards them rose above the sound of the storm, above the sound of the chainsaw. Jon stood there, silhouetted in the doorway, hair whipping in the wind. He turned back to them for an instant. “Goddamn, Theon, fuck your stupid book. But at least tell Robb how you feel about him, okay? Can I at least go to my grave knowing my brother’s happy?”

Theon’s eyes grew wide.

“Jon,” Robb said. “Don’t go.”

“It’s already got Gendry and Arya and Sansa.” Jon held his chainsaw two-handed. “Fuck that thing. Seriously. Just…fuck it.” And with that, he was running out the door, screaming like a madman. At least he had the decency to kick the door closed behind him.

The chainsaw roared and whined, as if cutting into something. A great howl filled the air, a creature in agony. “Get it,” Robb muttered. “Get it, Jon.”

He felt a hand grab his own and looked over to see Theon, still staring intently at the door. Robb squeezed back.

After a few minutes, the chainsaw went silent.

And then the step-scrape of the _thing_ resumed.

“Fuck.” Theon turned and buried his head into Robb’s shoulder. “Robb, I’m sorry I got everyone killed.”

“It’s alright,” Robb said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I…I have something I need to tell you. Since we’re going to die and all.”

“Yeah.”

“I…” He took a deep breath. “I love you, okay?”

Robb’s heart stopped, and not just because the step-scrape had paused at the shed’s door. “What? Really?”

“Yeah.Since we were twelve.”

Robb put his hands on Theon’s shoulders and pulled his head out of the crook of his neck. “All this time?”

Theon nodded miserably.

The door handle began to turn.

“I wish I’d known that sooner,” Robb said. “I would have—shit, Theon, I love you too.”

Theon stared at him. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

The handle clicked.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Why didn’t _you_?”

The door began to open outwards.

Robb closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Theon’s. Theon tensed at first, but then started kissing back. A hand wrapped around Robb’s head and pulled them closer together. Robb could taste the rain on Theon’s skin, the slightly copper tinge to the inside of his mouth. God, how many times had he imagined doing this? How many years had he wasted, frozen from acting? And now they were about to die.

Speaking of which…

The door swung open all the way, and Robb finally broke away, breathless from the kiss and about as ready as he’d ever be to face his death.

The thing that stood in the doorway looked remarkably more human than he remembered. As it stepped over the barricade and into the light, it appeared to be nothing so much as a portly, bald man in a yellow coat, arms tucked into his sleeves. He smiled as he drew near and knelt down in front of Theon.

“Ah, so _you’re_ the one who found the book.”

Theon clutched the book tight.

“None of that now. You know that doesn’t belong to you, human.”

“You…want the book?” Robb asked.

“I was sent to retrieve it,” the odd man said. “So, if you’ll just hand it over, I’ll be on my way.” He held out an arm, and several black tentacles unfurled from the sleeve of his robe.

“You’ll…be on your way?” Robb repeated.

The odd man nodded.

“Wh-what about the people you…ate?” Theon asked.

“Oh.” A scandalous look passed over the man’s face. “I didn’t eat them. They’re quite alright. Though they might have seen a bit more of the true nature of this dream you mortals call reality than they bargained for. Still, I’m sure their minds are…mostly still intact.”

Robb and Theon looked at each other.

The odd man cleared his throat. “The book.”

“Theon.” Robb nudged him. “Give him the book.”

With shaking hands, Theon handed it over.

The tentacles wrapped around it, and then the book appeared to disappear into the folds of the man’s yellow robes. “Thank you. We’ve been tracking down errant copies of the Necronomicon for years now. You wouldn’t believe what a hassle it is. If you happen to find another copy, do give us a call.”

Theon had a thousand-yard stare as he answered, “I’ll…be in touch.”

The odd man nodded in what might have been appreciation. Then he turned and headed for the door. Scrape-step. His robe swayed slightly on the ground, and Robb could not imagine how he was making that sound. He decided he didn’t want to know.

At the doorway, the odd man turned and looked over his shoulder. “Thank you for your cooperation.” And then he _smiled_ , and Robb knew he would probably never sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to anyone who sent in prompts and requests. And thanks to everyone for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. Wishing you all a Happy New Year's!
> 
> VagrantWriter

**Author's Note:**

> Requests are closed for now. Thank you to everyone for leaving a prompt.
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> VagrantWriter


End file.
